


Oaths

by ikknowplaces



Series: Promises [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Love Confessions, More tags to be added, Mutual Pining, Rating will change, Slow Burn, promises sequel!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-01-22 12:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21302438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikknowplaces/pseuds/ikknowplaces
Summary: After releasing Brienne from Tarth, Jaime takes her to King's Landing, where he has to deal with his sister's demands and his father's judgement, all while realizing he's falling in love with his best friend.Brienne is finally free from Tarth, after being locked away from the world for over half a millennia. Surrounded by lions, she has to adjust to the life of court and her feelings towards Jaime. But there's no way he likes her back, right?
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Promises [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1531433
Comments: 19
Kudos: 60





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> you guys so wonderfully asked and you shall recieve! welcome to the second part of promises, oaths. here we will discover just how jaime and brienne's relationship develop after jaime fulfills his promise and releases her from tarth.
> 
> some notes before we begin:
> 
> in the pjo books, the time on ogygia moves differently than on the outside world. i wanted the war to be done, i wanted to make them wait YEARS for each other, but the time changing got too difficult, so the blackwater battle happened, ned died, arya ran away and sansa is alone in king's landing. as much as i wanted to kill joffery and tywin, too much comedy would have been missed, so they're still alive
> 
> there isn't going to be a war in this fic, just jaime and brienne falling in love. i'm hoping to introduce margaery, loras, olenna and sansa. 
> 
> about godly powers and what exactly they mean: you got 2 kinds of powers, the manipulation kind (fire, water, air, earth, death, light- the whole thing) and you got the pulling objects to you, throwing people from windows, making things appear out of thin air type. people who have the second kind of telekinesis-like power can't manipulate elements, but people who can manipulate elements can use the telekinesis power to a small, certain degree. jaime can do it, but he hasn't practiced it in a very long time, so he doesn't do it at all
> 
> also, i will probably take me longer to update than in promises, because they chapters will be longer (4-6k is my usual range), and because i have other fics to write. this chapter got so out of control i had to move two scenes to the next chapter and cut some paragraphs. and the rating will change because of reasons to come :)
> 
> i hope to see everyone who stuck with me throughout promises here as well, your thoughts in the comments, and that you'll like this first chapter. i am very excited for this fic
> 
> enjoy!

Brienne has never been the person to count days. Like she knows when the sun would set and rise, like how she senses when a new person has washed off to Tarth's shore, she knows how many days have passed since she was cursed. It has no use, to count each singular day by itself.

The day after Jaime leaves, she rouses with a hollow feeling in her chest, worse than after she told him about Renly and cried holding her dress. A thought comes to her, unbidden, unwanted:  _ One.  _

She pushes herself up, strong morning sunlight blinding her. By rights, there should be a storm outside, to match the empty sickness in the depths of her stomach. Her father could have made one, if he was here. 

She rolls her shoulders and head, stretching her sore muscles. Her eyes still hurt, because she shed a few more tears before crawling under the covers and deciding that  _ what is done is done _ , and that many men have left her before. 

After Jaime vanished into the horizon, she walked back to Evenfall, feeling like a stranger in her own routes throughout the forest. The trees have fallen silent, no birds singing above, no dragonflies dancing around the lakes. She didn't take the basket or the blanket they left on the beach. Let the water spirits float from the castle and take them, or let them be buried under the sand. Her limbs felt numb as she stepped down the path, worn out from their run, for the fourth time this day. Water splashed on her ankles. Soil and wood scratched her boots. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

That morning, she breaks her fast for the first time in a sennight alone, wearing her thin nightshift that doesn't mask her shoulders and barely reaches her knees, because she feels as if every extensive move might drive her to tears again, and because she's alone. Her eyes drift to the space by her right, where Jaime used to sit. The water spirits must have sensed he was gone, because they didn't bring out his chair.

Even her breakfast is sad. Grain porridge spiced with a dash of cinnamon and a goblet of milk. She stirs it with her spoon, pushing an involuntary bite into her mouth now and then, and she wonders if Jaime has reached King's Landing yet. She has never sailed outside of Tarth, but it doesn't seem too far away when he pointed at King's Landing on the map, and the  _ raft _ is magical. He could have arrived at the shore by now. If she didn't know him better, she would have imagined he would be welcomed with flowers and applause, but with a sister who made him crash on Tarth and a father who's indifferent at best... At least he has Tyrion. She takes comfort in that. She hopes he does too.

Her gaze levels with her father's seat, abandoned and forgotten, and she feels the weight of Tywin's curse within her, spreading like ice.  _ What a good Evenstar I will be _ , she thinks bitterly, so much for her consistent refuses to be wed, that led her to lose her father and all of their people. _ I can't even make the one person I want to stay. _

She has gotten used to the aftermath of people leaving Tarth. Most of the time, she didn't even realize they were gone until Evenfall's walls became quiet again, without even a chance to give them a sack of food for their journey. Not that she wanted to. If she had a golden dragon- or is it a  _ stag _ now?  _ Lion? _ \- for every man who came and left, she would have had enough for a freshly forged suit of armor, as blue as her eyes, a new sword, and silk clothing to wear underneath her mail. Maybe a plume for her helmet as well, and the pearl earrings she never dared to wear, lest people think Brienne the Beauty is trying to make herself more beautiful. A belt of golden suns would be nice too, to honor their House sigil, and a pin with a single sapphire to keep the stray strands of hair that always frame her face. She wonders if that's something Jaime would like to see. 

He didn't leave his mark on the Great Hall alone. She can feel his presence in the kitchens, when she tries to distract herself by making supper. He's on the balcony, leaning against it, waiting for her. He's on the upper floor, in the armory, though she doesn't visit it. He's in the garden as well, spinning in the moonlight, and she blames herself for letting him in. Her sacred haven wouldn't have brought her so much pain if she hadn't. 

Her chamber is the worst. In the couple of days after he burst in, she would still blush whenever she thought of how he draped her leg over his waist, how gentle his fingers were as he cleaned the blood from her hands and stitched the wound. It doesn't flood any emotion inside of her now. Her hand comes to stroke the scar high on her thigh.  _ Not only that he marked every room in this castle, he marked me as well. _

She doesn't dare to go to the ocean. Galladon, her father, Jaime... too many bad memories. She wakes up every morning with that undesired knowingness of  _ one _ , and  _ two _ , and  _ three _ . Then a fortnight becomes a moon, and another one, and a third. 

The hollowness recedes in favor of that silent feeling that has always resonated within her, and she falls into the usual routine making her meals, sleeping, bathing and tending her garden. Her hand aches the most, torn away from the hilt of her sword, so she tries to spar against the air one day, blocking imaginary swings and answering back, shifting her stance. It doesn't work without Jaime smirking at her, without the sound of steel meeting steel. Some restless night she dons thin clothing and circles Evenfall until her legs can't carry her anymore, and she falls on the courtyard grass after a dozen rounds. Her blood rushes and her chest rises and falls as she gazes at the stars, thinking that at least- they're the same in every place in the world.

Jaime did promise to come back. Vowed on the Trident, no less. She is tempted to think he will only come back because his oath binds him to an afterlife of torture if he doesn't, but another part of her, that shared a roof with him for a moon, knows that it isn't true. He will come back because he likes her, as a friend, and because he wants her to be free.

She tries not to think if Jaime will even find his way to Tarth. Some men have, wanting to win their wager, but for every man who arrived safely, there might be a dozen who died on the way. She tries not to think if she can leave Tarth without the raft, unwed. His father never mentioned it, only locked her up.

So she waits, and writes every day that passes, hoping Jaime will come in one of them.

** ─ **

He arrives in King's Landing late into the night. The moon is just above his head, half full, and some stars peek behind the drifting clouds. He hasn't closed an eye since he stepped on board, watching Brienne disappear from view, afraid a sudden wave might turn him over and he'll drown. He allows the breeze to push the sails on its own, letting his sore arms and burning eyes rest for a while as soon as the Red Keep comes into view. 

The water is as dark as the midnight sky, and no other galleys float on the coast, only some of Robert's warships, and new ones that are being built in honor of King Joffery, first of his name. He sweeps into the deck with a few quick strokes of the oars, and his feet feel heavy when they meet the strong wood. The raft dissolves as soon as he's out, with the bag of food Brienne prepared for him still nearly full, and the nectar untouched.

No one bats an eye on him but a group of sailors playing dice and cards to the light of an oil lantern, on their way to being well into their cups. A single woman sits with them, a woolen tunic tied up behind her neck and around her ribs, barely concealing her chest, a matching skirt parted on her thighs. Ringlets of blonde hair fall down her back as she stares at him, the fire sparkling in her eyes, but all he can see is Brienne.

Two guards nod at him and let him pass in peace. If his face isn't enough to be recognized by, his golden hand solves the mystery. He doesn't quite remember the shortest route to the Red Keep, so he uses its high towers that reach the clouds as a beacon and stays off the main pavements, blending into the trees. 

Eventually, he has to take the main road leading to the Red Keep, penetrating through the city. King's Landing hasn't changed in the slightest in his month of exile; the streets still roam with people despite the late hour, smallfolk drinking and playing, some taverns are open, full of light and music, and prostitutes standing outside their brothels, their thin dresses blowing in the wind. Only then he wishes he would have been wiser to cloak his hands with gloves and strap his sword to his back. He might just scream  _ gold _ . 

The path turns steep along with the hill the Red Keep is built on, lest the smallfolk think about getting close to the Olympus without a climb. With each step, the lights of the Keep grow nearer, shinning within the dark, and so do the outer walls, a hundred feet long, the battlements thick and deep. During times of war, more than one gate of seven is allowed to be opened, to leave the castle's soldiers to depart faster, depending on the spot of the attack, but in times of relative peace, only the Gate of the Gods is opened. 

It's said the Gate of the Gods is the first gate that was carved into the Keep's walls, before the Mud Gate or the Dragon Gate. The path leading from the smallfolk city leads to it, and the entrance of the Keep. It must be a joke from the Gods, far before his father, made by the first Aegon, since smallfolk aren't permitted to enter the Olympus. Every person within the Red Keep is a God, or the child of one, or a descendant. Even the City Watch guards, his Brothers- it shudders him to think of Meryn or Boros as  _ godly _ \- have drops of godly blood, as diluted as it may be, leaving them exactly like the humans beneath the Keep, with no special abilities than their skills with a sword. Soon enough a rumor, a legend, a  _ truth _ spread that any human who lays the tip of their boot on the stainless white marble tiles of the courtyard floor, dies. Whether if because their plain bodies cannot contain the magical energy or because a nearby deity witnessed and struck them down in disgust, he doesn't know. He doesn't know if this truth is really a truth, too. 

When he arrives at the gate, a couple of guards dressed in the City Watch gold bow before him. 

"Ser Jaime," one of them says, with a low and husky voice. "Welcome back."

He simply nods at them, as much as his fatigue grants him to, and they stand down to let him pass.  _ Not good. _ His absence has been noticed, without a reason, no less. Surely if two mediocre guards have come to hear, every noble person staying in the Red Keep has heard as well. 

For all the times he wished to return, by rights this should feel like a homecoming. But as the guards barb the gate again behind him, and he gazes up at the Keep looming ahead, at the end of a thousand steps, all he can feel is dread. Dread, and his eyes closing, and his exhaustion that will only increase once he meets Cersei or his father. 

He gallops the courtyard, with its swirling marble paths, bushes trimmed with sharp edges, going along with the paths- so different than the ones in Brienne's garden, no flowers- lush green lawns and fountains, letting out water that sparkles in the moonlight. He spies no one around in this hour, but doesn't let it fool him. He has lived in King's Landing almost all of his life, and he has come to known little birds and spiders can exist everywhere.

He begins his climb up the steps, so wide two dozen people can stand on them together. In this darkness, they almost seem black, but in the light of day, they will be golden. He wishes he had one of Hermes' flying shoes- they were supposed to be his alone, but he was bribed with greater power and another eternal castle into sharing more with the world, under the condition they will be slower than his- or even the slightest wind power that could send him up to the Keep's gate, but no, he's the son of Zeus with no ability to fly. So he walks. 

He doesn't allow the guards the satisfaction of seeing him, one of the most feared men in the world- and for  _ what _ , he has to ask. For killing his pyromaniac king?- hunched over, catching his breath like an elderly when he reaches the top.  _ That is a luxury I only share with Brienne.  _ Her laughing face as she hits the grass fills his mind, only to be replaced by the memory of her fading away, a different kind of tears streaming down her cheeks. _ I swore,  _ he shakes it away. _ I swore. _

Another group of guards bows before him and the rattle of the Keep's great doors is so loud, as if he's swallowed by a thunderstorm, that he's sure all of the castle's people are wide awake now, wondering why is there a war going on outside in the middle of the night. 

He stands in the Great Hall, so much brighter than Evenfall Hall. The floor is made of polished stone tiles, silver in color, glittering with hundreds of stars Artemis picked up from the sky during one of her hunts. The walls are golden, like every wall in the Keep, decorated with twisting ornaments. The dragons he remembered are long gone, replaced by metal cages around every cream colored pillar, their fires gone out. The dais is seven levels high, coal as black, and on top of it, the Iron Throne, jagged with a thousand ancient swords. 

He has seen it a thousand times as well. He takes to his left, his footsteps echoing within the empty walls, and crosses to the White Tower, all while turning his head around to see if he is noticed. The devoided corridors don't give him much comfort. 

Much to his dismay, another guard is outside of the Tower's entrance, though it shouldn't come as a surprise to him. Every night two Brothers share a watch until the sun rises, to protecting the resting Brothers inside the castle. He hoped his travel from the shore to his chambers would involve fewer people, but already a dozen have seen him, seven of them from close. 

It is Kettleblack who stands watch. "Ser Jaime," his eyes wide when they fall on his person, though there's a sly shadow behind them. Even his bow is distasteful. He was recruited and sworn three or four moons ago, by his sister, of all. "We have not received a word of your return. Welcome back."

"Should you see my sister, send her away," he calls ahead of him, already well on the set of steps. 

He shuts the door locked and strips to his underclothes, letting his scabbard, doublet, and breeches fall onto the floor, as well as his golden hand. Then he picks them up, because they're the clothes Brienne gave him, and it's not civil, so he drapes them over the chair, pegs his sword on the wall, and sets his hand on the stand by his bed.

He hasn't missed his room, either. Too white, too lifeless, and too many lackwits he has to call Brothers sleeping underneath him. He has another room, in the Keep, golden and crimson. He never had much taste or interest in furniture, so it was decorated for him, by the finest master of arts. He hasn't used it in a long time, something his brother won't stop nagging him with.

He crawls under his covers, as white as his chamber, as white as the armor he will have to don tomorrow, and falls asleep faster than he realizes. 

The servants who bring him his breakfast and a fresh basin of water tell him his sister has requested his presence after he finished breaking his fast, before he's out of his bed and dressed. He groans and drops back on the featherbed once they're gone, and curses on the way to his privy to wash.

His meal is disappointing. No fresh vegetable, all roasted and cooked in heavy sauce, and the pitcher is full of wine, not water. He drinks anyway, as preparation for seeing his sister. He secures his golden hand first and draws on his silver and white armor, his sword sheathed inside its usual scabbard, and lastly his white cloak. 

He stands in front of Cersei, sitting in her solar still eating, her goblet full to the top. Her hair is loose about her shoulders, her gown just as green as her eyes, embroidered with gold and rubies. No words can describe the agony that has yet to come.

"Brother!" She rises from her seat, an unsettling smile on her face- Cersei only smiles when something terrible has happened. If it was in her benefit, even better- and nearly knocks over the servant attending her. 

He stiffens as she embraces him in a quick hug, his muscles tensing. "How good of you to return to us," she says after she releases him, and he wants to scream that she sent him away in the first place. 

Cersei chats endlessly, effortlessly, though he can see how tight the cords of her pale throat are. She talks about how dire the small council meetings are, how Joffery is growing to be a strong king like his father- a laugh- how she wants the eldest Stark daughter gone from their halls. The servant fills her goblet again. She doesn't mention their father, or their argument before she launched him into the sky, and she doesn't ask where he has been. Just as he expected.

He is summoned to his father next. Lord Tywin is signing some parchment with a set of quill and ink, a tactical act of making people feel inferior to him, besides being the God of Westeros. Jaime waits by the closed door until Lord Tywin sets the letter aside. 

"Sit," he commanders, and Jaime inches closer to his seat across the great table. The crimson cushions don't ease his tensed muscles much. Every conversation with his father means judgment. "I hear your sister banished you like a fool." Sensed, more like it. Knew. Lord Tywin knows whenever something occurs in his kingdom, as far as Dorne. He can see Brienne in Tarth too, and Jaime is tempted to ask him if she's still weeping over him. His sole downfall was when the Starks cast a Northen spell over their joined armies, to conceal him from seeing. That costed him defeat in three battles, on that led to Jaime's capture and the loss of his hand. 

He couldn't stop Cersei. He has his fire powers, but Cersei lacks that skill. Instead, she can pull objects into her palm or send them flying through the air. Not a power, exactly, almost every God has that ability to some extent. She doesn't use it often, prefers to have servants to bring her what she wishes from across the room, sparing that flick of her wrist. His father acts the same. Jaime has only a portion of that ability, and he hasn't tried it since his boyhood was over. He is more likely to drop the glass and shatter it than to push it into his palm, if he tried.

"Where are you been?" He asks. 

Jaime can't avoid it, not as he did with Cersei. "Tarth."

The golden spots in his father's green eyes gleam, like wildfire. His mouth is a thin line, every part of him unyielding. But Jaime isn't afraid. 

Lord Tywin takes another parchment and dips the quill. "Did the girl fall in love with you?" He beings to scrub his rough letters on the paper.

"No." His fist closes around the arm set, his throat running dry. The way his father speaks as if he knows Brienne, as if it's a good thing she fell in love with him- she didn't- and that he left her heartbroken, makes his blood boil. He wants to set his hands aflame and show his father how much he's furious, but he made a promise, and another one, more important, to Brienne. Jaime takes his father's interest in the second letter as an end to their conversation, and he is dismissed. 

Tyrion is next and at least that reunion doesn't rattle his nerves. Jaime kneels to give his brother a proper hug and smiles for the first time he arrived. Tyrion is shy away from his one thousand and a hundred year, younger than him in three human years. His head is slightly bigger in comparison to the rest of his body, his eyes are mismatched and a mane of blonde curls falls to his face, but he is still Jaime's little brother.

"Brother, welcome back," Tyrion grins, a first honest greeting he has gotten. His doublet is crimson red with buckles of gold, slashed with a chain, securing his small cloak. "Where have to disappeared to?" He asks, an innocent question, but Jaime can hear the smirk in his voice. If two simple guards knew he was missing, his brother has figured out the reason why by now.

Jaime flops onto a seat, in one of the many solars meant for the guests, overlooking the back part of the courtyard. He takes a sip of wine before he answers. "Tarth."

His brother's eyes go wide, blue and brown as one, and he sets his goblet down. "Tarth? Did you meet..." His words fade into a halt, as if the island is banished from mentioning as well. He supposes it is, in a way. 

"The girl, yes." Impatience rises in his chest, not wanting to dismiss Brienne as just a girl or remembering how he left her. "Her name is Brienne."

Tyrion smiles and he can see the gears working inside his clever little mind. Let the nagging begin. "What is she like?" He savors the remains of his drink. 

"Hates our father." Jaime answers, and Tyrion bursts into laughter.

Three moons pass, and every day he wishes for an opening, a better time to go back, but if his absence has taken attention, a second one will bring nothing but suspicion, so he waits. His chambers in the White Sword Tower overlook the ocean, and every night before he retreats to his featherbed he gazes at the waves and thinks of Brienne, determined to fulfill his promise. For her, and for him as well. 

His father barely requests his presence again. His sister begins to annoy him with her unreasonable, bloodthirsty quest again, commanding him to retake Riverrun from the hands of the Tully rebels who seized it from the lackwits called House Frey. She seems to forget the fact that she launched him into the sky and exiled him for a month, and he doesn't bother telling her he nearly died. Instead, he tells her what if she wants a war, she's welcomed to raise the Lannister army and command the troops on her own, because his place as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard isn't to start wars, it's to protect his king.

Tyrion fusses over him as expected, arriving uninvited to his chambers and asking questions about the girl from Tarth. _How does she look like?_ Tall, broad and freckled, with pale blond hair that falls to her shoulders. _How did she take it the son of the God who cursed her crashed on her island?_ Yelled at first, didn't talk to him for a fortnight, but they broke their silence eventually. He doesn't tell him about the bath, Gods forbid, or that she knows what happened to Aerys. Tyrion's eyes light up when Jaime tells him of her great skills with a sword, and he repeats _great_ with a knowing smile on his face. With every question Jaime answers- he doesn't know why he keeps providing his brother with more information- Tyrion's grin becomes more and more mischievous. It makes him shift in his seat, uneasy, as a wave of warmness wash over his cheeks. He curses silently. He has never blushed before, especially not when thinking of a girl.

In the end, he breaks, and swears Tyrion to complete secrecy. He does it in the privacy of his chambers, barbing the door and shutting the window. His brother leans very closely, as he lives on finding secrets and tormenting people with them, and Jaime tells him.

"I'm going back to Tarth. To set Brienne free. I swore on the Trident." Every word feels unreal on his tongue. 

"What?!" Tyrion nearly shatters the goblet he always carries in his hand. Jaime wonders if it's because he means to come back to an island that doesn't exist on the map, because he means to free the girl their father locked up, or because he swore on a deadly river. He guesses it's the latter.

So in every moment of his spare time, he sneaks to the docks, wearing his simplest clothing and thin gloves covering his hands. Most of the smallfolk have never seen him before, but he knows that he walks and talks like a highborn, and smallfolk aren't dull when it comes to Gods who feast in their castle while they're starving during a war. 

He finds a sailor, one that looks trustworthy enough. He is in the fifth decade of his life, Jaime estimates, with salt and pepper beard that matches his greying hair. His accent gives him away, a Tyroshi merchant who moved his trading routes to the Seven Kingdoms, his skin darker than Jaime's and strong despite his years.

They agree to meet during the nights, after the docks clear out, three times a week. Jaime gives him a pocket of bronze and silver in exchange for his service, and the sailor begins to teach him the way of the sea. Sails and ropes and levers of a small ship, big enough to contain a week of supplies and carry three people on. 

Jaime finds out sailing is like a new language to learn. His feet are uncertain on the deck, more used to soiled ground, and he takes a slow time to remember how to navigate the sail and which tie to release when. By the time he's done, sweat soaks his plain tunic, plastering his hair to his face, but the sailor pats him on his back.

Once, he asks Jaime why he wishes to learn how to sail, in secret, at most. Jaime gazes at the ocean, the quiet waves keeping him apart from Brienne. 

"I made a promise."

He leaves at midnight, with the merchant's ship. At first, he was reluctant to give it away, with a good reason, but Jaime promised to pay the ship's full price with gold, if something happens to it. A Lannister always pays his debt. He will be a dead Lannister if the boat is damaged, though.

His heart beats fast as he adjusts the sails and the wind begins to take him. He was tempted to bring the sailor with him, he never sailed, alone even less, but that would reveal his plan and put Brienne in danger. He has to trust in the wind and the sea, and the knowledge he acquired over these three moons. He has to continue with the coast to the east and turn south at Massey's Hook, descending on Shipbreaker Bay. 

He rows all night, until his flesh hand turns as rough and numb as his golden hand, all while picturing how Brienne will receive him, should he pull to the shore alive. She will smile, he believes, then she will be free to go. He just has to find Tarth first.

In truth, he has missed Evenfall more than he imagined he would. He thought King's Landing neverending loudness and busy street were absent to him, but he has grown accustomed to Evenfall's quietness and Brienne by his side. The old castle is a pitiful wreck compared to the greatness of the Red Keep, but the old walls and the Sapphire Isle bring him more comfort.

A breeze comes, sending him well ahead, and he ties his surcoat tighter around his shoulders. Tyrion gave him one last hug before he departed, and another coat.

"For her, should she need it," he held it out to him, and Jaime knew he was holding back _for your lady._ He thanked his brother and strode out.

Another few hours, and he will fulfill his promise. A few hours until Brienne will be free. 

Dawn breaks, painting the Stormland sky in hues of rose and orange, and the fog surrounds him again, blurring the world. The sun is right above him when he emerges, and a line of trees appears on the horizon. Jaime gets up at once and hopes, wishes that it's Tarth. He tightens the ropes again just to do something with his hands, looks at the mainsail to see it stretching by the wind and tears a piece of bread from the sack he brought with him.

He doesn't let his eyes wander off the small dot of green and yellow. The endless sea doesn't offer him any different feeling besides fear, seeing nothing but blue to his left and right, anyway. He rows, expecting the waves to resist him, to turn him over, but the Sapphire Isle is calm today, and the ship holds on. 

His thoughts drift to Brienne again, and he wonders where she is. Dawn broke just a mere hours ago, so she could be breaking her fast in the Great Hall or tending her garden. Maybe she's curled up in the library, lost in one of her books. 

He's about to give his sore arms a quick rest when he sees it on the horizon. Evenfall, on top of a small hill, its black walls like solid smoke on the back of a bright blue sky. The sight of it pushes him to continue with what power he has left, and the shore grows closer.

He nearly collapses to his knees when the merchant's little ship bumps into the hard sand and he stumbles to the ground, the waves crashing on the stern, splashing on the cuffs of his breeches. He's tempted to break into a run and find Brienne, but he sobers and drags the ship far away from the water.

The cold breeze hits him at once, the pierce sun, and the smell of the ocean. He feels as he did when he crashed here, four moons ago, taken back from the coast and forest as far as the eye can see, but his confusion has been replaced by relief. Relief that he has made it, that he can stay true to his oaths, unlike what so many Gods and smallfolk think. Relief that he can take Brienne's hand and lead her out of her curse.

He begins his way into the forest, abandoning running in favor of a walk between the trees. He doesn't want to come to Brienne plastered with sweat and red-faced, and even less to get lost between puddles and fallen trunks. 

In his last conversation with Brienne, he told her how absurd it would be if she didn't find him stranded on the beach and he would have walked to Evenfall on his own, and she laughed and said she would have punched him if he showed up at her doors. He does that now, marching to Evenfall, uninvited, and the irony makes him smile. He has done it. The waves were kind enough to let him into the island. 

The forest ends and he stands in the clearing, the courtyard, and the abandoned water fountains. Evenfall looms over, and Brienne is just out of reach. He can feel the rough stone walls without touching them and Brienne's lips on his cheek. He gallops the courtyard and the steps and looks above at the bridges, the sunlight peeking between them. He expects to see something different, something new, but nothing has changed in the four moons he was gone. 

The great doors are closed to him, quartered in rose and azure, dozens of golden bursting suns and crescent moons painted on them. For a heartbeat, he fears they won't open to him uninvited, but they crack wide enough for him to enter.

The Great Hall is empty when he enters. "Brienne?" he calls, his voice carrying to the upper floors. The torches are unlit, the dining table is gone, and Brienne doesn't rush down the steps to see who emerged into her castle. 

_The garden._ She always goes to tend her crops and flowers during the morning, after she breaks her fast. It could be the only place for her to have gone to. He crosses the hall and her father's seat, and leaves the castle behind. 

He quickens his pace on the stone path, the wind whipping on his hair. He can't remain calm anymore, knowing she is so close. The ship remains in his thoughts, and the tide that might take it. He has only walked down the path to the garden twice, but he feels as if he knows every stone as well as the back of his hand. 

There is nothing he wants to do more than barge into the garden, sweep her into his arms and take her away, but he comes to a stop under the archway, vines and flowers swirling around it. He pushes the rusting metal gate slowly.

At first, he doesn't see her, as he steps inside, careful not to crash any delicate patches of grass beneath his boots. Despair fills his chest as further as he steps inside. Could she be gone? But he comes to a turn and hears the sound of metal and the rustling of soil against each other and there she is, kneeling on the ground, her hair tied together with a silk band.

His heart skips a bit. There she is, real and so close. He lingers behind her for a moment, watching how the light falls on her back, every shift of her legs when she leans back on her heels and takes off her gloves. He thought something might be different about her but no, her shoulders are still broad as she twists them and her arms just as long, her thin undertunic hiding the freckles underneath. 

He would have been content to watch her for a while longer, but there's a ship waiting for them, and an entire world outside. "Brienne?" he asks, so quietly he fears she won't hear him.

She gasps and whips to him at once, clutching the shovel and pointing it to his chest, as if she is holding her sword. A few good yards separate them and he catches how her frightened face falls and her sapphire eyes widen.

"Jaime?" she breaths and lowers the shovel. Her brow is furrowed and some of the redness has already begun to spread on her cheeks. He has longed for her voice more than the entirety of King's Landing.

He nods, still in his place. Before he can understand better, she throws the shovel away and runs to embrace him. He nearly falls off because of the sudden impact, but she's solid and warm in his arms and he returns the hug, allowing himself to close his eyes and relish in the softness of her skin and the sweetness of her scent. It's just as he imagined.

A shuddering breath escapes her lips, and when she pulls away, a tear streaks down her face. She holds onto his arms, her hands clenching and letting go, as if feeling he's real. "W-what are you doing here?" she manages to get out between the tears, though there's a smile on her face. The blush brings out her eyes even more.

_Three moons_. "I promised, didn't I?" He grins and she nods, glancing away and returning to him. The tears reflect on her flushed cheeks. "We should leave soon, there's a ship on the beach."

"A ship?" Brienne turns around and makes for the garden's gate, pulling the tie away and leaving the garden behind them. Her hair scatters down her back, almost golden in the light, and Jaime finds himself breaking into a smile again as he takes her side. 

"How do you think I got here?" He nudges her shoulder and Gods- it feels so good to have her again. He wishes it could have been like that from the start, no bickering, no silence, no arguments. Just him and Brienne, strolling down the courtyard.

She lifts her blushing face from the ground. "Didn't get blasted into the sky again?" The corners of her lips curl up in a smirk and her brow shoots up. Her eyes hit him, sapphire blue on a field of green, and he laughs. 

She giggles back, a short sound that sets his chest aflame, and squeezes his arm before breaking into a trot towards the back steps. 

They return to Evenfall short of breath, and Jaime can feel his raging pulse in his ears. Brienne leans against the southern wall, regaining her air, smiling at him, her fingers brushing the stones. He has taken the doorframe, standing at the entrance, his foot on the highest step. 

He kicks himself off the entrance and brushes Brienne's shoulder as he stumbles inside on weak legs. "Go get your things."

The smile fades from her face and her eyes narrow as he steps away, as if only now realizing she is meant to come with him and leave Evenfall and Tarth away. 

"I'll be here," he adds, and she worries at her lips but relents and climbs up to her bedchamber.

** ─ **

She is lost in her chambers. Her eyes scan the room that has been hers for a thousand years, her bed made with midnight blue covers, the paintings on the ceiling, the dolls she and Galladon played with. Everything that is her and hers. 

It hasn't dawned on her that she needs to leave it all behind until Jaime said so. How he managed to return, unharmed at all, how he cared enough to come back, is beyond her. He vowed on the Trident, she knew, but she didn't imagine he would come back.

She didn't imagine she would be so reluctant to leave Evenfall as well. She had dreamed of seeing what's beyond their Sapphire Isle since she was a child, and some days more than none- prayed for the curse to be broken just so she could run away. See anything else besides the same old stones and the ocean that drowned her brother.

Her hands close into fists. She cannot hesitate now, cannot return to the Great Hall empty-handed and tell Jaime she doesn't want to leave. _Fear is making you doubt,_ she thinks, _there is so much else outside._

For all the days she wished to be gone, she doesn't have the slightest idea of what to take with her. Blankets and silks, some pretty golden decorations to her room- they're all so... material. Other ladies would have taken jewelry, no question, but she doesn't have any. Those would not be what remind her of Evenfall. 

She settles for some tunics and breeches she considers to be her favorites and leaves her chambers. Jaime is still in the Great Hall as she passes to the library, flashing her a quick smile. She takes only three of the books she enjoys the most. The Red Keep must have a library twice as big as this, with all of the other copies she loves. 

She steps into her father's office lastly, feeling like a little girl about to get caught for sneaking in uninvited. Its the least of the chambers she visits in Evenfall, along with her father's own chambers. 

Sunlight shines between the dust and she wonders if the water spirits have been cleaning it or if they have been avoiding the room as much as she has been. 

Her eyes drift to a high cabinet with a glass screen, and within it a quill and ink. She finds a parchment inside one of the drawers and begins to write to her father, wherever he is in this world.

_ Father, _

_ I hope this letter finds you and our people safe and in good health, and that you have finally returned to our home. Words cannot express my deep longing to see you again, and the sorrow I have caused you to endure. I am sorry, father, all I ever wanted is to bring honor to our House. _

_If you find this letter, know that I am with Jaime Lannister in King's Landing_. _He has come to take me away, true to his words. Please write back so I'll know you are well._

_ Your loving daughter, _

_ Brienne. _

Done with the letter that hopefully will be discovered by her father, no matter how many years from now, she returns to the Great Hall with nothing but a small bag draped over her shoulder, full of books and clothing.

"Are you ready?" Jaime asks from the end of the hall. The great doors are already flung open, as if waiting for her departure as well.

She lifts her head to the old ceiling, studying every crack between the stones of her home, and silently says farewell to Evenfall and her bedchamber, so pretty in blue. To the dolls she and Galladon used to play with, to the kitchens where she prepared her meals alone for so many years. To running around her father asking for a story about knights, and sitting next to him. To her garden and her water spirits, always so helpful. To the ocean who took Galladon and brought Connington and so many others. To every tear she shed within those walls, and all the times she cursed them.

She opens her eyes, Jaime patiently waiting for her. "Yes."

The road to the ocean isn't one she thought she would make in many years to come, perhaps ever, not after Jaime left, but she finds herself walking it all the same. Her eyes are fixated on the lattice of trees above, the sunlight just barely passing through them. Birds sing out of her sight, louder than she has ever heard them, and she wonders if they can feel her leaving. 

Her footsteps become unsure when the forest ends, the hard ground replaced by sand, and her cheeks turn warmer when she remembers how she cried in front of Jaime that day, three moons ago, and how she dared to kiss his cheek. The waves are as calm and beautiful as ever, but something about the way they crash onto the shore screams danger. 

She pushes the thought away. If they carried Jaime back and forth, they can carry her as well. 

Jaime hurries to the boat just outside of the tide's reach and throws some stray rope back onto the deck. "Thank the Gods, it's still here." She can hear the relief and laughter in his voice.

"You pushed it all the way here? You were supposed to tie it," she cannot hide the smile in her voice, nor be unimpressed by how far he dragged the ship, alone. It is bigger than the galley that lead him out of Tarth, meant for three people at best, with several layers of strong wood and double sails, sure to give them much velocity. 

Jaime takes her bag away and tucks it under the deck before securing the small window shut, and they push the ship back into the waters of the Sapphire Isle. 

He stumbles on the deck first, holding onto the foremast as the ship sways on the water. Once settled, he turns around and extends his hand to her, the golden one. She takes it, surprised by how cold the metal is against her skin, and the breeze carries them off the island. 


	2. The Olympus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jaime and brienne arrive at king's landing, and who's waiting for them inside the red keep?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back to the second chapter. i don't have a lot of things to say here, besides that they finally arrived at king's landing. i really loved playing their entrance from brienne's pov. another thing i noticed about this part is that promises was all about jaime, but oaths is shared between them. brienne's pov is so interesting to write from
> 
> about their current feelings towards each other: brienne isn't in love with him yet, not even crushing, just deep emotional connection to the one person who actually talks with her. she cares for him a lot. jaime, he's in denial of crushing. he's just waiting for it to pass, but it's there. god i'm really waiting for the chapter he realizes it all, it's gonna be a mess
> 
> not related at all- but if you guys love animation, there's a show called the dragon prince, and it's got slow burn, enemies to friends (and maybe lovers?) red/blue gay knights, and they're radiating jb energy. you should check it out if you wanna watch something good
> 
> i hope you'll like this chapter- comments are always appreciated!

For the first time in a long time, Brienne feels something akin to fear. During the first minutes of the ship Jaime brought with him carrying them across the Sapphire Isle, she finds herself glancing back and forth to Tarth, Evenfall growing smaller with each stroke of the oars. Her home. Every nerve in her tells her something bad must happen, that they will get turned over by a violent wave or continue to wander endlessly in the ocean, never reaching King's Landing. It must happen, since she is leaving her island, her prison, unwed. Jaime seems calm enough whenever she glances at him, his arms moving along with the oars, the strong sunlight on his face.

In any case, should something happen, she will be able to help. The sea isn't a stranger to her, even if she hasn't sailed in half a millennia, even though she never sailed outside of Shipbreaker Bay, even if, since Galladon...

"Let me help you," she snaps her chain of thoughts. Another time, in a safer time, she can think of what she hasn't dared to do since Galladon drowned. Jaime must have rowed all night to arrive a few hours after dawn, and she is eager to put away her stray thoughts.

"It's fine," he gives her a thin smile, but she can see the dark circles beneath his eyes, and the tiredness in them. Another push of the oars, his hands tightening around the wood, flesh and golden alike. She wonders if it will ever stop being a surprise to her. 

"You have been doing this all night," she drops her arms between her knees and leans over. The sun glows on her back through the tunic, reflected in the water. "I know this sea better, Jaime. Let me help."

He lets out a defeated sigh and relents, his shoulders dropping. "Fine," he places the oars back within the deck and stumbles up, his feet uncertain on the board. She gets on her feet slowly as well, afraid to lose balance, and Jaime slopes in her place. 

She gathers the oars he dropped and dips them in the water, feeling the resistance of the waves at once. It's a strange feeling, after such a long time, making her labor far harder than in a sword fight. In what was supposed to be her future, where she wouldn't be cursed, an oar in her hand would feel as natural as her sword.

Jaime turns back to the cut in the deck, the golden clasps of his doublet shining. It reminds her of the one he wore when he crashed on Tarth, crimson and golden lions. After they broke their silence, after hours of talking, endless dinners, and a few sparring sessions, she considered fixing his doublet, or helping the water spirits to do so, but she didn't have any velvet, nor she was willing to ask an invisible being where was Jaime's tunic. 

He takes out a palm date from the bag of food locked beneath the deck and bites it on half, before handing her one. It's sweet in her mouth as she watches him eat. "You should sleep," she says.

His face turns serious as he attempts not to roll his eyes, and he opens his mouth for words, only to yawn instead. "I'm alright, Brienne, really." 

It's her turn to cease her shifting of the oars to give him a pointed look. "You're exhausted, you need to rest. I can handle everything," she gestures up at the white sails, the sun behind them. 

He sighs again and folds his surcoat into a pillow, not before flashing her another smile. She is tempted to tell him he can lie on her legs, but he won't be able to sleep with her entire torso moving with each turn of the oars, and that would be a strange suggestion, to have him sleep in her lap, even with the surcoat between them. 

_You won't have to use the oars at all, _ a voice tells her as he curls on the deck. _I won't put us in danger _, another one pushes it away. The sun isn't in Jaime's favor, just above him, and she hopes a cloud will come and block it, if only for a little while. 

Sleep soon takes over him, she can tell by the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the velvet. The wind is strong enough to take them by itself, so she allows her sore arms a rest. Tarth is long gone on the horizon now, fields of endless blue surrounding them from every direction. Jaime's feet just reach hers, and in the sunlight his hair seems more golden than ever. 

She still can't quite believe he has come back to take her, and now her island, her home, everything she has ever known is gone behind her, miles off the sea, and that destination is King's Landing.

She has heard of the capital of Westeros, of course, long before she was cursed. It is where Aegon the Conqueror settled after seizing the Seven Kingdoms with his sisters and their dragons. The Red Keep was built there, the grandest castle in all of Westeros, sealed with magic, the seat of King Joffery and all of his noble, godly guests. 

Brienne has never been in another castle other than Evenfall, and neither to court. Her castle could hardly be called one. Tarth isn't a large island, nor a very high one. She counts the years like the smallfolk, was never addressed like a real highborn lady, and her father was- is- too warm with their people to inspire fear, as it is expected of a highborn, godly lord. Her skin already itches with uneasiness when she thinks of being seen in the Red Keep, too tall and not beautiful enough. She has known ridicule all her life, and she likes to think she has gotten used to it, but all the same, she doesn't wish for it to start again.

A bigger problem than being mocked is Jaime's father. Lord Tywin is bound to be with his King, his grandchild, serving as his Hand. She doesn't know what powers he possesses- all of them, she supposes- but he will find out she escaped, and she will have to face him, sooner or later. 

Her eyes return to Jaime. The wind has changed its course, sending them a little off the trail, and she adjusts the sails better. They shield Jaime from the sun, and he lifts his hands covering his face to roll on his back. 

Some men consider her to be rebellious for choosing to dress in men's clothing, to pick up a sword and refuse to marry. In truth, she has always been an obedient girl to her father, doing her best to make him proud even though she isn't the pretty maid he must have wanted. She studied her lessons, did her stitchwork, acted as courtly as possible to the eyes of noble lords and ladies. Her downfall began with Connington, when she failed to greet him, a knight six years her senior, and he tossed the rose at her face. That day she decided that if she is of no use being a proper lady, she might as well put her height and strength to good use. The world took Galladon as her father's champion, to be proud of and continue their House line, and now she must.

But she has never felt so rebellious as when Jaime showed up in the garden, and she ran across Evenfall to gather her things. It felt like a statement then, to finally free of the island that became her prison, to board on Jaime's ship and sail away. 

Now she fears for him more than for herself, and for her father. Punishment, as painful as it might be, and Lord Tywin must have several tricks up his sleeves, doesn't mean much to her, but she can't imagine what will happen should Tywin hurt his own son for bringing her, or worse, hurt her father. She told Jaime she doesn't know where her father is, that it must be a good place, and Tywin could send him to the Tartarus with a flicker of his finger.

Maybe she should have just stayed on Tarth, alone and unwed. Jaime shifts in his sleep to lie on his side. How could he be sleeping so well on such hard wood? His golden hand is a deadweight underneath him, and it comes to her he hasn't shared with her yet how he lost it. He must have experienced worse pains than sleeping on a deck.

A few more strokes, with Jaime lying at her feet, and the fog takes them, raising over the cool water, blurring the world. Her eyelids suddenly feel heavy and she stifles a yawn, but she keeps going. Voices whisper that she should close her eyes, only for a second. They remind her of the water spirits, invisible but present. She tightens her grip around the oars and pushes further. 

**─**

The sun is long gone when Brienne rouses him, and darkness surrounds the world. The waves he drifted asleep to are more grey than blue now, and the only light is from the full moon, emerging from behind a thick cloud.

"Jaime," Brienne gently shakes his shoulder. Her pale hair falls down her back, and he can barely see her freckles in the moonlight. The wind is stronger than as when they left, and she has discarded the oars on the deck. "I don't know the way from here, I'm sorry." 

"Don't be," he pushes himself up and stretches his arms while Brienne leans back, taking her place again. The wood has made quite the strain on him, but it's nothing compared to his cell in Riverrun for over half a century, starved and covered in mud. He looks around to see a tower he remembers crossing, torches burning from the distance. They must be halfway to King's Landing. He wipes his eyes. "How long have I slept?"

"It seems that enough," she smiles, and she is right. The fatigue that took over him has disappeared, and beside the slight ache in his muscles, he feels well-rested. The wind is freezing and he unfolds the surcoat he used as a pillow and dons it, before handing Brienne the one Tyrion gave him.

"Thank you," she says and slips into it. Surprisingly enough, it's blue and longer than his. He wonders if Tyrion knew something more than what he told him. He probably does, this meddlesome imp. 

He watches Brienne as she cloaks herself tighter and crosses her arms together, bringing them to rest over her stomach. "Have you eaten anything?"

She shakes her head. He did sleep on the window carved into the deck, after all. He takes out the bag of food, sets it between them, and tears a piece of bread. Brienne takes it from his hand and digs inside the bag for an apple, of course, and bites into it first. 

When they finish their modest supper, Jaime cleans his hands from the bread crumbs and stands up. "Let's switch, it's your turn to get some sleep," he says. Brienne opens her mouth, but he cuts her off before she can protest. "Don't argue with me, wench. I can see you're tired."

For a heartbeat, Brienne seems taken back, and he fears he overstepped with the jape. "So we're back to wench, aren't we?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Only when you annoy me," he finishes plainly. Brienne doesn't respond, but he knows she's thinking of how to call him should he irritate her. 

A moment of silence passes, then she speaks. "Should I be worried when we get to King's Landing?"

_Yes _ is his first answer. Obviously. His father is there, and he can't hide Brienne from him, not for long, perhaps not at all. He doesn't worry about her, though. Any punishment his father wants to serve can only be cast on him, since he swore on the Trident and released her. _Even if it costs me another hand, _ was what he thought. He doesn't believe his father will hurt him, his heir, his firstborn son he still hopes will drop from the Kingsguard to marry a noble lady he doesn't know and continue the Lannister dynasty in Casterly Rock. Brienne, though... he doesn't know what will he do if his father decides to hurt her. He hopes it doesn't come to that.

Then there's the matter of his siblings. Tyrion will be kind enough to Brienne, because he has known the pain and mockery Brienne felt over the years, and because he told him to be. One evening when they shared supper he told Tyrion of Brienne's love towards books and his little brother's mismatched eyes lit up. _I will take her to the library at once, _ he raised his glass, and Jaime smiled at the thought of Brienne and his brother sharing a book. A lot of insight will be shared, to be sure.

Cersei, he knew what to expect of her. Judging emerald eyes that pierce into your soul, a remake or two about Brienne's height or how singular she is. She won't openly laugh at her, but will taunt her with words and glances and empty silences to empathize how much power she, the Queen Regent, has over a cursed lady who doesn't behave like a lady from Tarth. 

It's best not to think of what Joffery might say to her. It makes his golden hand curl into a fist. 

"No," he answers at last. "Everything will be fine, now get some sleep."

Brienne holds his gaze, not saying anything, and he knows his answer wasn't even close to convincing. Still, she nods and rolls to her side, her hands under her head.

After a while, her breathing steadies and her body slumps, sound asleep. The wind has grown stronger and he tilts the mainsail sideways for it to catch more air, before turning the ship in the right direction. It has only been a day since Jaime sailed in this route, but it feels like a lifetime ago, like the day after he killed Aerys Targaryen. 

He wishes he could have stayed on Tarth just for a day longer, to have another supper at the Great Hall, to see Brienne's garden at night. Everything is so peaceful for him on Tarth, no duties and no noise, no one dictating him how to live his life, though it holds a lot of pain for Brienne. He would have stayed there, if she asked him, maybe not forever, but he would have stayed.

He allows himself a few more moments of rest. The wind is enough to lead the ship for now. There is so much Brienne doesn't know about him yet; his hand, his refusal to use his powers, his and Tyrion's childhood, what tore him and Cersei apart. She has never been to court before, any court, and he's taking her into the deepest of golden waters, into the lion den of his family. 

Everything will be okay. It has to be.

There is a worse thought, one that hasn't left him since he saw her in the garden again. 

He should have kissed her, before he got in the raft. He should have kissed her, more than just her hand. The ache hasn't stopped ever since, since she pressed her lips to his cheek. He should have kissed her, to let her know he would come back, even with the oath he swore. He should have kissed her because the moment screamed at him to do so, and because he wanted to know how it would feel, after a moon, after that fortnight-long darkness of not speaking to her, after everything they shared.

But that would have been wrong, to leave her shocked and heartbroken as well as crying, and he would never take advantage of the fragile situation she was in. She was shaking from the second her eyes laid on the raft, and tears gathered in them even before he made his oath. That would have been wrong.

And he's not in love with her, no. That is the clearest thing he knows. He just hasn't bared so much of himself to anyone in a really long time, and had someone to bare themselves in return. Tyrion, Cersei, even his father don't really know why he killed Aerys. They never bothered to ask. It would be like acknowledging the flaws of their family, a chest that will never cease to flow once they open it. 

Brienne wouldn't have kissed him back, regardless. She enjoys spending time with him, trusts him, maybe even cares for him, but she can't be in love with him. He's got his own chest buried deep within him, and if he opens it, things will never cease to spill-free, and she will never love him if she hears them all. No one can. He's just a newly turned friend under not so great circumstances, though he'd do through it all again, that Brienne finds some comfort in, in talking to. This understanding between them. And he's fine being that friend, nothing could match to the feeling he gets when Brienne shares a conversation with him, without judging him, only seeing him as he is. He will never trade their friendship for anything in this world.

A land looms in the distance, and he follows its dark borders, colliding with the sea.

She's just so _good _. And honorable and kind. And he isn't. All of his honor was lost when he killed his king, his king who gave him his white cloak, his kind that turned made with voices and vision that weren't there, his king that wanted to burn thousands. All the sneers and names people call him behind his back will never be as worse as the names in his head, and his white cloak has become a burden more than pride.

The most ironic thing perhaps is that he broke his vow to save his life, and he wouldn't have met Brienne if it wasn't for that. He would have died, too, face-front in the sand, and what would have poor Brienne do with a lifeless body? 

He remembers one of the first things she told him. _The last thing to describe you as is innocent. _ It didn't bother him then, but it stings now, though he can't blame her. He called her mean things as well.

He rows, for another two hours, or three, until his veins are pulsing and every muscle in his arms ache. Then the Red Keep shines behind the night's mist, and he rouses Brienne.

**─**

She wakes up heavy with sleep and dizzy, but well-rested. Jaime towers over her, telling her they've arrived, and she whips her head around to where he's facing. Her mouth falls open. A castle so great raises on the horizon, a tint of dark orange in it, so tall its towers are as thin as fingers, disappearing into the sky. It seems to be _radiating _ light, not just from the towers' summits, but from the outer walls as well. She can barely see its bridges from here, the balconies and the windows, the sharp edges.

Jaime ties the boat secure and offers her a hand. Her feet meet the ground and, even the sand is different. Harder, denser, shaped by hundreds of people. Dozens of ships lie floating on the calm water, most as big as their galley, meant for trading or fishing. A few guards note their arrival, but don't approach. They must recognize Jaime, and he takes her to a brick path, leading from the docks to the city. They never had these on Tarth, not even before she was cursed.

He's is trying to stay off from the city, she can tell, when they walk fast between two rows of high trees, thick and lush green. Not palm trees, but maple trees. She can see the lines of houses between the cracks, and a few lights as well, and laughing. People. A grin forms on her lips.

He tells her to keep her head down after the next set of guards they pass as they enter into the city. The passageways between are wide, though the cabin and houses are crowded, and they're so brown. On Tarth, the houses were grey and blue, sometimes green, and always so neatly polished. Some of the multiple stories buildings look as if they might collapse. 

They pass near a group sitting outside to the light of a lantern, and she understands why Jaime asked her to keep her head down, though it does next to nothing. The smallfolk still stare at them, three men and two women, and the best she can do is to look away.

The path turns steep and soon they're on a climb towards the gate leading to the castle, surrounded by the grass of the hill it sits upon. Her heart begins to beat faster at the sight of the gate, and Jaime turns around to look at her just in time, as if asking if she's alright. She continues to follow him.

The guards bow to him. "Ser Jaime." They open the gate and- this is it. She has been only herself for so long, but here she's _lady _ Brienne, who doesn't look like a lady, and he's Ser Jaime, highborn and so much for valuable than her. He shouldn't even be seen with her. That will be an insult to his House name.

The guards shut the gate behind them with a metal grunt. Jaime steps in first. How can he be so calm? And she remembers it's his home, has been, since he joined the Kingsguard. She remains in her place, afraid to step on the silver tiles, glimmering with their own stars. Jaime turns once again, a tired smile on his face, and gentle nudges her shoulder.

He leads her through the courtyard, and she can all but gape. Ten times bigger than Evenfall's. Her home's welcoming yard can be called no more than a lawn compared to this courtyard; rows of bushes in shapes of squares or rectangles form the pathways, trees guard the sides, archways and statues, and two fountains letting out shinning water. Her head spins at the sight, and just before she can adjust to it all, they arrive at the first step.

The first of a thousand, if the story is to be true. Her gaze follows the wide staircase up, to a point where each step grows narrower and narrower and she can no longer see the ending. The Red Keeps looms ahead- no, _The Olympus _, seat of the Gods, former seat of the Targaryens, its towers vanishing between the high clouds, made out of gold. No common folk can enter here, all godly lords and ladies, all more important, all more pretty. And Jaime's father is here, with his nephew king.

Her head drops, fatigue washing over her suddenly. A sick feeling rumbles in her stomach, telling her that she doesn't belong, that she should have stayed on her cursed island. But Jaime swore, and came back, risked his life for her, and she can't let him down, can't be afraid. If Tywin Lannister wants to execute her, he won't do it in front of an audience, and certainly not so quick.

She glances at Jaime. His eyes are fixated on the long climb ahead, his hand clutching and letting go of his sword's pommel, and he looks warier that she does. Tired, so tired.

He returns the glance, his green eyes dark, even with the far-away lights of the Red Keep. He must sense the same from her, because he lends her his arm to lean on, and they begin their journey up the endless steps. Some parts she leans on him, some parts he leans on her, and all the way she doesn't know who's trying to draw strength from whom. 

Her legs become so sore she forgets about what may lay behind the great gates. All she knows is that they open and close, and Jaime paces inside, faster than she imagined he would be. 

"I have cleared out a chamber for you," he says, only to her ears. "It is not quite prepared, but it will suffice for tonight." She nods. "And-"

"Uncle." A voice pierces the quiet Great Hall, high a sing-song like, but not without a touch of venom underneath.

Jaime stops in his tracks. She barely hears him cursing under his breath, eyes shut. His golden hand is curled into a fist. He strides forward and she continues after him, her throat turning dry. 

The dark shadow turns clearer once they're close. The Iron Throne. Forged with thousands of swords of the men slain in battle when Aerys and his sisters conquered the Seven Kingdoms. It's a misshapen thing, the coal steps twisted, the swords pointing on in every direction. It seems impossible to reach the top, let alone seat.

A person does seat, not at the end, but at the middle or so, ten or a dozen steps high. A boy, though he must be preferred to be called a man, golden locks falling on his shoulders, a crown on his head. The King.

"Your Grace," Jaime bows, and then- "Father."

Her eyes go to the figure on the dais, unwillingly. She knows who to expect, but it hits her all the same. Tywin Lannister. His appearance hasn't changed at all since she saw him last, pulled tight skin, clad in crimson, a faint of blonde hair on his head. His silence alone is a powerful force. King Joffery Baratheon says something, but she can't make it, _good of you _ and _matter of importance _. Lord Tywin regards her silently, not a feature in his face moves, and his eyes are harsh and brimming with fiery gold. She wants to- to yell out or run or hold onto Jaime, but she stays frozen. It's what he wants from her, to do one thing out of the ordinary. She has nothing to fight with, regardless, not a sword or a dagger, and she's not like Jaime, she needs-

"Where did you find this _beast _?" The King's voice brings her back. Her nerves are still so paralyzed she can't feel the sting of his insult, as if her blood has turned to ice.

"She is my guest," Jaime answers plainly, and swallows. 

It is her turn to speak now. "Your Grace, my Lord Hand," she bows. _They won't be able to claim I forgot my courtesies. _ "I am Brienne of Tarth, daughter of Selwyn Tarth, by the grace of the Gods Lord of Evenfall." It all sounds false to her. _Lord of nothing, lord of a prison, lord of someplace unknown with his people, and I am the heir of a godforsaken land. _

The King chuckles. "More of a sow than a lady. Are you sure you are a woman?" He looks at her up and down from his throne. Heat rises on her cheeks.

"Your Grace, it has been an exhausting day for the lady and I, may we have your leave to retire?" Jaime barges in and she finally takes a breath. _ I will have to thank him, for that._

Joffery's lips harden in dismay and he fumbles with his fingers, annoyed by his uncle's request. A toy taken from his grasp. "Yes, you may leave," he says.

Jaime bows and she once again, and they turn in the direction they arrived from. The only sound in the Great Hall is of their boots against the rich tiles. Jaime puts his hand on the small of her back as they ascend a spiraling stepway. He leads her down a passageway, then another one, taking so many turns she has lost count. Barbed doors surround them from both sides. The last corridor ends with a balcony, overlooking the ocean. Her chamber is on the left, with only another one opposite of it. He produces a key from his pocket and turns the lock.

Darkness greets them, and Jaime stumbles to the corner of the room by the door to light up some candles with a match. _You don't need that at all, _ she thinks. _You can do that with a flick of your fingers. _Once burning, he goes to the torches on the wall, four of them. The darkness receds, and she sees the outline of her new chamber: a hearth beneath the torches, a bed on the opposite side, much larger than the one she had in Evenfall. A dark crimson carpet that stretches on the entire floor. The table Jaime lit the candles on is round, there's a closet at the end of the chamber, enough to contain dozens of gowns, and a head-to-heels looking-glass, golden. 

A new chamber, a new life, in court.

"I am so sorry," Jaime turns to her and- he is. She can hear it in his voice. He's more exhausted than before. 

"It's okay, it wasn't your fault," she speaks, and it feels like she hasn't in hours. The presence of Tywin Lannister alone was enough to turn her into a tongue-tied two-and-ten girl again. She feels like she should do something to reassure him further, touch his arm maybe, anything, but she's too taken back, from his day and from this chamber that is _hers _ now. "I think we should both go to sleep," she manages to half-smile.

"Yes," he nods. His gaze lingers on her, the candlelight dancing in them. "Good night, Brienne.

His grin is genuine, even if tired. She returns it, a warm feeling of safeness filling her chest. "Good night, Jaime."

Her words trail in the air. The torches burn, the wax of the candles drip, and she can't let him leave like this. He's about to turn when she embraces him, and once again she's amazed by how light she feels in his arms. It's a miracle that they're of height, because she doesn't need to bow down, nor he to crack his neck. He smells of the sea, and it reminds her of home. "Thank you," she says. _For bringing me here. For defending me._

After he leaves, she sits on the edge of her new bed, looking around her chamber, still feeling Jaime's arms around her, and for the first time in a long time, she is by herself, but not alone. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](https://ikknowplaces.tumblr.com/)
> 
> and my [asoiaf sideblog](https://brienneisle.tumblr.com/)


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